


Who is This?

by Spiria



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5176943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiria/pseuds/Spiria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rio discovers an envelope from Ryoga's mysterious pen pal in Europe. Things start to develop from there until the letters become a part of both twins' routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who is This?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Qu-ko (Qu_the_Mighty)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qu_the_Mighty/gifts).



> This is a monster fic for me in that I finished in one sitting and getting myself to write a thousand words is already an uphill journey. But I've been itching to write something for days and would have gone stir crazy otherwise. It was an urgent need; as a result this AU isn't too thought out and I didn't have a clear ending in mind, so please bear with the flightiness.
> 
> Mostly gen, though there are hints of IV/Rio if one squints and decides to look at them that way.

Inhaling sharply, Rio whipped out the yellow envelope, its flap opened and content folded neatly inside. "Ryoga, who is this?"

Ryoga spluttered. "Wha - where did you get that?"

"You must have misplaced it. I found it under the bed while cleaning. Honestly . . . I'd almost vacuumed it up." She tut-tutted and closed one eye, the other looking aside to give her brother time to save face. "Unless you'd put it there on purpose to keep me from seeing it? You should have just dropped it in one of your drawers. I don't dig through those."

"Give it here, Rio!"

Ryoga lunged and Rio let him swipe the envelope out of her grasp. His ears were red and most likely burning, and he shoved the letter in his pocket with a grumble.

"I didn't read the sender's name, you know. I wanted to hear it from you," said Rio, choosing her words with care. "Are you seeing someone?" _And if so, why haven't you told me?_

"I'm not _seeing_ anyone. It's for . . . school," said Ryoga, turning away with a huff.

Rio scowled and rounded on Ryoga to meet him face-to-face. "Someone from school sent you a letter? But I thought . . . " She trailed off, but Ryoga was already giving her a sharp look.

"I thought you said you didn't look."

Chewing on her lower lip, Rio said, "I might have seen the name of the country."

Sighing in frustration, Ryoga started down the hallway. "Forget about it. It's not a big deal," he said before grabbing the knob on the right and swinging the door to his room closed behind him.

Her cheeks burned and Rio pursed her lips, swallowing the intense desire to argue her right to know or at least be treated right. She didn't so much as take a step, her knees hobbling at the thought of confronting Ryoga, and she relented with a heavy sigh. So she grabbed the dishcloth on the counter and worked on the dishes instead, even as her mind wandered to the loopy penmanship of the English address and clumsy kanji denoting Ryoga's name.

 

_Why does she have to sneak around my room like that? It's_

Although this portion of the letter had been crossed out, Ryoga groaned when he read the response, for Thomas had, indeed, neglected to ignore his impulsive statement. He should have used a new sheet of paper.

 

"He says, 'hi.'"

Quirking a delicate eyebrow, Rio set the hot bowl of soup down on the dining table while Ryoga cleared his throat. When he deigned to volunteer no more, she pressed him. "Who?"

"You know who! . . . Ugh, fine. _Here_ ," said Ryoga, pushing a new yellow envelope to her face.

Rio blinked, and then her eyes flickered to the top left corner of the envelope. There in English, again, was a textbook name (literally; she'd seen the name in her English textbooks before). "Thomas?"

As soon as the name escaped her lips, Ryoga pulled back and set the envelope aside in favor of taking up his spoon. Rio sneered, but nonetheless poured her brother his plain soup, taking care not to scoop one too many vegetables into his bowl. The envelope lay there in the open, tantalizing her, and she had to look away.

Once she'd settled into her own seat and had taken a sip out of her own spoon, Rio ventured to ask, "What exactly did Thomas write to me?"

"I just told you," said Ryoga, glaring in a manner that failed to intimidate Rio in the slightest.

"Did you tell me what he wrote, or did you truncate his words?"

" . . . Fine! I shortened it, because he wrote something stupid. If you want to know that badly, here," said Ryoga, taking the envelope and wagging it before Rio the while.

Rio took the envelope with perhaps a touch more eagerness than she would have liked to allow. Inside was a crisp sheet of folded paper (dimly, she wondered how creased and messy Ryoga's letter must have been compared to this) contrasted by the somewhat clumsily written Japanese. She scanned the letter and found it in almost an instant: 妹さんいるんですか？

"Ryoga," started Rio, her voice airy, "what he wrote is nothing like what you said. He asked you to relay that he hopes I have 'a wonderful day with many good things in store.'"

"So he wanted me to say, 'hi' for him." Ryoga shrugged. "Same difference."

"It's totally different! I _cannot_ believe you would butcher someone's sincere message to this extent."

"Look, I showed it to you. What more do you want?" asked Ryoga, gritting his teeth.

Despite the rhetorical nature of the question, Rio pondered for a moment what she should do. The moment lasted all of four seconds before she nodded and, after pocketing the letter, slid the envelope back to Ryoga.

"Tell him I said, 'thank you - and that I hope the same for him.' If you would," she added, daring him to translate her words while Ryoga pointedly didn't look her way.

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the soup," he said, rising from his seat and taking his empty bowl back to the sink. He turned the faucet and Rio stared as she called his name. "I'm doing the dishes tonight. Finish eating and . . . do whatever you feel like doing," he finished lamely.

 

_Rio says thanks and hopes you have a . . . you know what, she feels the same way._

"The same way"? Is this about my wishing her a good day?

_It is. I didn't feel like rewriting something so corny. You're lucky my sister's lenient._

Looking at his last word, Ryoga almost choked on air but cleared his throat for the umpteenth time. He considered slashing "lenient" and replacing it with something else, but decided against this: There was no more paper in the house.

 

The twins alternated between who'd check the snail mail, and it so happened to be Rio's turn when another yellow envelope turned up amid the meager pile of less personable mail. She turned the envelope over and read the full name, mouthing 'Thomas Arclight', and held the package out to Ryoga at the couch; however, when Ryoga took the envelope by the corner and pulled, Rio held on with her thumb and index finger.

"Is Thomas Japanese?" she asked.

"What? What kind of a question is that?" asked Ryoga, tugging at the envelope again. "Let go."

She did, and she planted a hand against her hip. "When you showed me that one time, I noticed that he used both English and Japanese. Mind, I didn't actually read what he wrote, so you don't have to worry about your privacy. I'm . . . I'm just curious."

Apparently, Ryoga found her bout of curiosity absurd, judging from the incredulous look he gave her. But then he shrugged as he began to pry the envelope open, and said, "I don't know. All I know is he's practically fluent, but he's not used to writing. I'll ask."

Speechless, Rio gave a numb nod in response and shuffled away with the rest of the mail, leaving her brother to his privacy with the foreign letter. She released a breath when she heard the sound of Ryoga's door closing, and a trickle of disappointment tickled her chest at the fact that he apparently hadn't a message to relay.

 

_By the way, it's because Rio's dying to know._

 

When the next envelope arrived, Ryoga told Rio, "He's half." At Rio's inquisitive hum as she looked up from her current sewing project, he continued, "His mom was Japanese. He doesn't get too many opportunities to use her language where he lives, and the way he writes doesn't match how he talks."

 _Was_ , thought Rio. _Thomas doesn't have a mother._ She shifted in her seat and readjusted the fabric on her lap, and then she asked, "Why not?"

"Apparently, he sounds like a 'hooligan' face-to-face. His word, not mine." Ryoga sneered, clearly unamused. "I bet he's just trying to be funny."

"Well, there's no way to know that for sure until you meet him," said Rio, to which Ryoga did choke on and spill his juice on the front of his shirt.

"I'm not meeting Thomas!" protested Ryoga, vigorously dabbing at the stains with several tissues rolled up into one ball.

"Why not? You two have been writing each other for at least a few months now, and I daresay it's been even longer since that was only when I noticed. There's no shame in a long distance relationship, Ryoga," said Rio, her brow creased in genuine sincerity.

"It's not _like_ that. I only started writing to Thomas, because Yuma went ahead and talked about me to Michael. It's . . . it wasn't even supposed to go for this long."

Now Rio frowned, tipping her head to the side in thought. Ryoga appeared flustered, his ears red again and gaze evasive, and she stared for a couple of seconds before nodding to herself. Picking the needle back up, she licked the end of the thread and fitted it through the hole.

"If you're not comfortable with this arrangement, you can always stop. But before you drop Thomas, consider what he's given you and the gentlest way to put him away. Of course, I'm not as familiar with the situation as you are for obvious reasons, so you'll ultimately have to figure it out for yourself."

"I know," sighed Ryoga. "I'll think about it. It was supposed to be one letter. Maybe two."

"Good. If it helps, you can tell him that I said, 'hello,' and ask what his favorite color is."

"His favorite color? How is that supposed to help me?"

 

_The pink bow was Rio's idea. In fact, she's the one who boxed the package. If you're going to thank anyone, thank her. None of it was mine._

 

"Who is this?" asked Rio, leaning over Ryoga's shoulder as she dusted the shelf next to them.

Ryoga started with a severe jerk, and he flipped the picture down to conceal the image of someone who'd looked unfamiliar to Rio. She pouted and leaned over to playfully reach for the suspicious picture as Ryoga stretched his arm the farthest it'd go, away from the tips of Rio's petite fingers.

"Oh, come on! Why can't you show me? Is it somebody you like? Honestly, Ryoga, there's no way I'd laugh at your taste in other boys," snapped Rio, which seemed to do the trick. Ryoga thrust the picture back with an irate comment about this being nothing like that, but Rio was too preoccupied snatching the thing to hear.

The boy was a model. Somewhere down the line, Ryoga had picked up the habit of printing pictures of his favorite celebrity, although it wasn't anyone Rio recognized. He looked tall - if he wasn't, he was at least lanky and put on the illusion of having an extra inch or two - and his features were strikingly sharp with exotic colors of blond and wine in his hair that, not unlike herself, was uneven in the front. She followed the longest strand to his neck and noticed the cream-colored scarf she'd knitted that fall. The boy wasn't a model.

"Is this . . . Thomas?"

"Yeah, wearing the bulky scarf you made him."

"It is _not_." Rio sucked in a breath, pausing at the sudden thought. "Did he say anything about it?"

"He wrote an entire paragraph," said Ryoga, and before she could demand to see, he lifted the letter over his shoulder.

It was fortunate that Ryoga's back was turned to her, else Rio was embarrassed to think that he would have seen the rosy blush on her cheeks as she read. The aforementioned paragraph was short but colorful, singing Rio praises of fine craftsmanship and implying a great level of excitement based on the sheer number of exclamation points compared to the rest of the letter. At the end of it, she coughed into her fist and returned the letter.

"He certainly sounds excitable."

"Trust me, this is the first time. He's normally calm in his letters . . . _too_ calm," said Ryoga. He shifted, then looked over his shoulder to draw Rio's attention. "Why'd you give that to him, anyway?"

"I had extra yarn. And he seems pleasant," said Rio, lacing her fingers together.

"Right . . . I'll tell him you said that."

Rio opened her mouth to protest and then, thinking better of it, shook her head and returned to her original task at hand. She swept the rest of the dust off the shelf and moved onto the coffee table in front of Ryoga, mindful to ignore the photo lying face up on the glass. Appropriately, an argument ensued soon thereafter about Ryoga removing the photo so that she could clean the rest of the glass while he complained as to why Rio couldn't just move it herself.

 

_I think she has a crush on you._

This time, Ryoga crumpled up the first draft, tossed it in the bin next to his desk, and pulled out a new sheet of paper. He tapped the pen against the white of the paper, staring at but not seeing the wall, and decided to keep it simple. Something in his words must have tipped off Thomas to more, however, which was evident in his reply that came with its own package.

 

"He sent you flowers. Who sends flowers internationally?" muttered Ryoga, glaring at the colorful bouquet, which Rio had placed in an empty vase that, until now, had been tucked away in the attic.

Rio was perusing the accompanying letter when she shook her head. "No, he sent them to you. He didn't say they're for me."

"Then you need to work on your English. He brings up the flowers after his customary paragraph about you." He gestured to the flowers for emphasis. "They're all yours."

The twins debated back and forth for a little while longer, deflecting every piece of interpreted evidence until Rio threw her hands up and stood. She moved the vase to the coffee table in the living room, the most neutral ground in the house, and brooked no more argument from Ryoga, who seemed content to let her take care of the bouquet.

When the last of the buds bloomed to its fullest one day, Rio sat down and pulled up her D-Pad to look up the various flowers in the arrangement. Thomas had neglected to mention what the meaning behind each one was beyond stating that he'd worked on the cluster with his younger brother, Michael. As she scrolled through, looking from the vase down to the D-Pad and back up to the vase for comparing images, Rio wondered if perhaps she was looking too much into this.

After deciphering a pair of drooping flowers, Rio marched to Ryoga's room. She rapped her knuckles against the door and said, "Thomas sent the flowers to both of us. Now, are you going to help me maintain them or not?"

 

_Who sends flowers internationally?_

Are you allergic?

_No!_

 

Two or three letters later, Rio set her chopstick down during dinner and asked aloud, "Should we send pictures?"

Ryoga paused in the middle of sticking food into his mouth, his chopsticks frozen in place, but thought better of returning it to his plate and finished chewing before he answered, "What makes you say that?"

"He sent us his. I doubt he knows what we look like, though. Doesn't that seem unfair?"

"It's not like I asked him to show me his face." Ryoga sniffed. "Fine. I see your point."

Rio clasped her hands together. "Excellent! We'll have to send him something recent, of course. We could take a picture with the flowers . . . Or should we attempt a more candid shot? Perhaps a group picture with Yuma and the others at school would work. Yuma knows Michael, after all."

"All of this is happening, _because_ Yuma knows Michael. And what are you so excited about? It's just a picture."

"Then would you prefer that I take a picture of you on vegetable night?" asked Rio, her brow furrowed in displeasure. The harsh crease softened with Ryoga's blanching. "We'll think about this more and have it done before you send your next letter. I hope Thomas doesn't feel put off by our delay in returning the favor."

Ryoga snorted. "Or he could be one of those people who like to take selfies. Ever thought of that?"

"Well . . . still. It's the least we can do."

After a great deal of deliberation, they settled for a group picture with Yuma's immediate crew in front of the school gate. Rio put on a picturesque smile befitting a refined lady, whereas Ryoga looked, to put it mildly, like an owl caught in rain. The second Yuma agreed that it was perfect, Rio had Ryoga ship this photograph in his next letter, which contained a few choice words.

 

Both of you are beautiful.

Ryoga coughed loudly, bordering on wheezing, and Rio resorted to wrestling Thomas' letter out of her brother's steel grip. That night, Ryoga wrote his reply with more ardor than he ever had, but waited on going through the post office for a good week. After that, there were no more letters for almost two months.

 

Rio had counted the days after the unusually long wait. On the 55th day without word from Thomas and no visible reaction from Ryoga, who should have made at least one comment about the matter, she confronted him with a frown and her arms folded.

"You know something, don't you?"

Peeved more than he ought to have been by the query, Ryoga huffed at her stance. "What are you talking about, Rio?"

"Why hasn't Thomas written back? Or did he, and you just didn't tell me?"

"Why are you obsessed with this? I thought you wanted to give me privacy. I didn't have to show you anything he wrote, but I did, and now I'm wondering if that was such a good idea."

Her chest stung, and Rio bit her lower lip. "How can you say that? And what are you hiding from me?"

"I'm not hiding anything," said Ryoga, matching her frown with a scowl of his own.

"Yes, you are! And . . . and if you won't tell me, then I'll ask Yuma, and you know that I don't want to. I want to hear this from you. Please, Ryoga. I," she gulped, "I have a right to know. It wasn't only you Thomas wrote to."

Silence reigned for what felt like an eternity in the room when Ryoga's shoulders slumped in defeat. He turned away and crossed his arms over his chest while a sinking feeling rose in Rio's. Another minute passed and Ryoga's arms unwound as he slipped his hands in his pockets - it was something with which to busy his hands.

"I don't know the details, but there was some kind of an accident. Michael has only written Yuma once since; that's how I found out." He sighed. "I didn't tell you, because you'd worry."

Some of the tension in Rio's expression unraveled, and she stepped up to tug at one of Ryoga's wrists and wrap her hands around his. She looked him in the face, and he met her eyes to expose his own breed of concern for his sister foremost. Rio looked down at their hands before letting go, releasing the tightness in the air with the motion.

"I worried anyway, but . . . thank you, Ryoga," she said. "Whatever it is Thomas' family is going through right now, I think it's best that we don't meddle without their permission. Though if, by any chance, Michael asks something of Yuma, I'd want us to do the same for Thomas."

Ryoga nodded his acquiescence. However, as the next days turned into weeks, then months, and then a whole year, the agreement was left hanging and gathering dust until the memory of a pen pal named Thomas became just that.

 

_Dear Yuma,_

_I understand that it's been a long time since I wrote you. I can't be sure that this address is even the right one by this point, but I have a feeling you're still there. After all, that corner of Heartland City is your dear home, right?_

_It'd be unfair of me to start detailing what we missed out on like this, so I'll be frank. We're moving. My brothers and I are coming to the east - to Heartland City, actually. If you're wondering why, it's because our esteemed father found work there._

_I know this is a lot of me to ask, but . . . if you'll still have me, I'd feel privileged to meet you in person. Who knows; we might even encounter each other on the street!_

_If we meet again, I'd love for us to catch up on everything. It's been an entire year, after all._

_Sincerely,_  
_Michael Arclight_

 

"Kamishiro Rio?"

Rio paused at the unfamiliar voice behind her and whirled around on her heels, only to freeze again at the sight of a familiar face, which had changed since the last and first time she'd seen it. He was one year older now, and while that was easy to follow, the scar over his right eye and down the cheek seemed to age him at least four more years. Her eyes widened, and she stammered the first thing to come to mind, "Who, who is this?"

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think Thomas used the standard 私 and formal dialect in his letters, but refers to himself by 俺 when speaking in person. Consider the overall differences like the separation between academic writing and casual conversation. That's why he made the distinction early on, and this would have thrown Rio off further in on their reunion.
> 
> To be honest, I got stuck at this point of the story, and that's why I left it off on a cliffhanger ending. If I manage to come up with a solid idea later on, I may tack on an epilogue chapter. For now, this is it. Thanks for reading!


End file.
